Hitman: Echos
by AlexisD74
Summary: Chased by enemies he has made in the past, 47 goes through an epic adventure to not just ensure the safety of his life, but of the lives of all those he holds dear.
1. Chapter 1

"It was more noticeable

"That was all Agent 47 could think about his tattoo, now. A bar code with numbers was noticeable enough: a bar code with numbers and a deep, white scar running through it would make him stand out like a sore thumb.

"47 gently rubbed it again for the millionth time, then went back to cleaning one of his Silverballers, the one he used to shoot Benjamin Travis. His prize AMT hardballers had gone without proper cleaning throughout the "Victoria Chase", and he had forgotten about how relaxing with was to just sit down with his special weapons and give them a good clean.

It had been tough to get back into routine with the ICA since the assassination of Benjamin Travis, and he hadn't been quite sure why, so he took a three month break to recuperate from the chase. After sleeping in much later than usual and finding it harder and harder to do his regular exercises, he finally figured out what the problem was.

He was getting old.

There was no doubt that he still possessed near-superhuman abilities, no age could ever take away that. However, 47 was almost fifty-years-old, and despite everything he was doing to keep in shape, he was getting slower, both mentally and physically. He required at least a full extra hour every night to be at his best everyday, and his push ups and sit ups he did every morning were increasing in difficulty. Most men half his age wouldn't stand a chance against him, but the aging was disturbing 47 nevertheless. 47 also doubted that the Victoria Chase did much to help the situation. His left knee still ached ever since he fell off the library building, while being chased by the Chicago police, and 47 was concerned that he would be drawn back to painkillers if he didn't do something about it soon.

With the Silverballers fully clean and assembled, 47 stood from the hard seat and stretched. His current hideout was in a small, underground, concrete room hidden deep within the sewers of Tokyo. The reinforced walls blocked out the smell, and a small wooden table and chair sat with his ICA laptop, where he read most of his contracts from. Though small, the concrete room was big enough to contain all of 47's weapons. The canals served as a good place for shooting practice, and he had made sure no gunshots could be heard from where he practiced. There were plenty of rats, which 47 actually preferred. They reminded him of his friend he had made as a little kid at the asylum.

47's cellphone vibrated, and he dug it out of his right pant pocket to check. An unknown number had just informed him that he had a new assignment waiting, so 47 sat back at his table and opened his laptop, happy to be back at work.


	2. Expected

The European-styled mansion definitely stood out, being in the middle of Tokyo. As did the several highly-trained Caucasians dressed in English tweed that guarded the gated mansion. It almost appeared that they were trying to stand out, and got all sorts of looks from pedestrians walking past. In all honesty, it reminded 47 of Belingford Manor.

The man who owned the mansion wasn't even English, rather Russian, and not the ICA nor 47 could figure out what the man was trying to achieve by drawing so much attention to himself. 47's target's name was Yassen Agata, and his client claimed that Agata was a drug smuggler who had trafficked drugs throughout the world. Agata was planning to settle one last deal before retirement, and 47's client wished for both Agata and the person he was drug dealing with, Roberto Baker, to be taken out, along with retrieving the information of where the drugs were if possible. Baker was timed to enter Tokyo in a few days, and 47 wanted to have the entire outside of the mansion observed and memorized by the time Baker arrived.

A walk around the mansion's gate showed that, despite the building's antique look, it was well protected and prepared to fend off intruders. The gate was a good ten feet high, barred, and completely metal. Not a single part of it showed any sign of rust or wear. Although cleverly hidden, there were at least a dozen security cameras outside that took 47 a good half hour of searching to discover. Not a single foot of the outside premises seemed to be left not monitored by the cameras.

Even more alarming than the building's protection was the eagerness of the guards. They had a worried look in their eyes, observing every single person who walked by, their old-fashioned clothing in contrast with their soldier-like posture. It didn't sit well with 47. He had only seen this kind of alertness in a few instances, a few of them being the Russian bodyguards invading Gontranno, the police officers after him in France, and, most memorably, his clone brothers when hunting him down in the Romanian asylum. All of these people had one thing in common:

They were expecting him.

Because of this, 47 conducted his reconnaissance from afar. He had little doubt that they were simply just prepared for threats due to their employer's business, and, even if they were expecting an assassin, 47 doubted that they were expecting the bald killer clone himself. The buildings surrounding the mansion were easy enough to penetrate, the locks weak. Now all 47 had to do was figure out the guard's schedule.

Of the three days he had to observe, he could not figure out a consistent timetable for them. They would switch shifts and take breaks at completely different times, so 47 came to the conclusion at the end of the third day that he would have to knock one of them out during their shift and take their clothes there and then, a feat he had mastered throughout his career and had no doubt he could pull off again. Now, with his target due to arrive the next day, it was time for 47 to completely formalize his plan of penetration, down to every detail. After a long day of reconnaissance, he decided it was a good idea to have dinner first, and as such jumped into his red Audi parked five blocks away and headed off to the most expensive place in town.

During dinner, which consisted of magnificently prepared salmon teriyaki and aged red wine, 47 thought about the tweed-dressed guards. Ever since his underestimation of Blake Dexter in Chicago at the Terminus Hotel, 47 overlooked all of his reconnaissances for quickly-made decisions, and he had to admit that the way he dismissed the guards' concern might have been a bit foolish. Had the Agency set him up? It wouldn't have been the first time. The Belicoff incident had caught him off-guard, and he didn't intend the Agency to betray him so easily again. Even if they were, though, this would seem a strange way to do so. They knew of his secure location in the sewers, and it would have made more sense to send one of their initiatives after him in there then to send him after a false contract. Still, it didn't sit well with 47. Did his target somehow know about him? His client?

47 finished his meal and headed back to his hideout. He'd have to wait till tomorrow to find out, and make sure he was on his guard for anything to happen.

John continued his hourly patrol around the mansion, keeping his eye on the streets for the "bald man in a suit" they were supposed to be looking out for. Although out of place, the tweed he wore was extremely flexible, hiding a Kevlar pad underneath. They were told that the man they were waiting for was supposed to be highly trained, and preferred to use stealth, so their utmost attentiveness was expected. After his fifteen-years in the British Army as a sniper, John had learned to expect anything, and as such took his orders very seriously.

While walking by a corner of the gate, John thought he saw something suspicious, and as such turned around to investigate. It took him by surprise to see a bald, Caucasian man in a black suit and red tie staring directly at him from a block away. The two of them held their gaze for a few moments, until the bald man disappeared into a nearby alleyway.

There wasn't any time to tell command, John had to pursue now. John headed right out of the gate and darted into the alleyway, desert eagle at the ready. The alley was empty, but there were plenty of places to hide.

Tiptoeing down the alley, he checked every single garbage bin and corner, his search coming up empty. Frustrated he put his gun away and started to walk back down the alleyway. No sooner had he turned that a strong hand covered his mouth, and a sharp prick came from his neck. John tried to resist, but the advances sedatives in the syringe knocked him out within seconds, and he wasn't going to wake up for the next five hours.

Making sure the unconscious guard was firmly bound and gagged, the now tweed-dressed clone gently placed the ex-soldier in the nearest garbage bin, taking out a lock and snapping on the lid to the bin. Confident that the soldier wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, 47 put on the cap to complete the outfit and headed over to the mansion.

Thankfully, the guard had left the gate unlocked, and 47 was able to enter without an issue. Unfortunately, a nearby guard had seen John take off and was now approaching 47 to investigate.

"Everything OK, John?"

"Yes" replied 47, trying to keep his head down so that they cap would hide his face. "Thought I saw an intruder, but it was nothing."

"Do you think it was the bald guy?"

"Doubt it."

The guard nodded and moved on.

The bald guy? So, they were expecting him. But how? 47 didn't have time to ponder, as a long black limo drove up to the front gate and parked.

Roberto Baker had always been a chubby figure, and he had long since tried to disguise it. Still, that didn't stop him from dressing nice, and always made sure to wear his light-black suit and grey tie when making drug deals. He took out his comb and combed back his greasy, greying black hair just as the limousine pulled up to Agata's mansion. Straitening out a few creases in his jacket, he waited for the driver to open his door and stepped out.

He had seen pictures of the mansion, but none of them had succeeded in expressing just how out of place this strange building was. Most of the building around it were concrete, yet this mansion was a deep oak, having strangely dressed guards stare every pedestrian down. If Agata was aiming to attract attention, then he was certainly succeeding.

"Wait here" Baker instructed the limo driver. "And get comfy, I might be a while."

Baker approached the metal gate and was greeted by a rather fit man, noticeably more muscular than the rest of the guards. He gave a polite smile as he opened the door and made a welcoming gesture towards the mansion. "Mr. Agata is expecting you, sir."

"Thank you" replied Roberto. The guard turned and walked away, and Baker noticed what appeared to be a bar code tattooed on the back of his head with a white scar running through it. Roberto had never seen a tattoo like that, and as he approached the massive front doors began to wonder where Agata got his men from.

The large oak doors swung open to his arrival, and the lean, fit Yassen Agata himself appeared and greeted Baker with a rather enthusiastic hug.

"So nice to meet you at last, Roberto! I trust your trip went well?"

"Yes, it did. Is...is everything alright?"

"Of course! What could be wrong?"

"You just seem a bit worried, maybe I'm imagining things."

"I'm just exited about the deal we're about to make. Please, come on in!"

The exited Russian lead Roberto down a long wooden hallway and into a large dinning room with a balcony overlooking it. A big circular table sat in the middle, with heavily cushioned chairs on two sides. An enormous chandelier dominated the ceiling, which contained candles, lighting the entire room in candlelight. Agata quickly took his seat and gestured for Roberto to take the opposite. Once they were both seated, Agata took out a small laptop of his and, after quickly typing in something, began the conversation.

"So, Roberto, has the amount that you wanted remained the same?"

"Yes, Yassen, terms non-negotiable..."

"Non-negotiable? Are you sure you don't want to hear what my new offer is?"

"Yes, Yassen, I..."

"I'll add an extra fifty percent for just twenty five percent of its cost."

Baker sat shocked. He could barely believe that Yassen was considering his enormous offer, and now he was asking to make it bigger?

"I know, I know" said Agata. "It sounds insane how I want to increase such an enormous amount, doesn't it? But, you see, this is going to be my last deal of my career. I want this operation to be memorable. So, would you..."

The Russian never finished his sentence. The sound of a breaking chain came from above, and both Yassen Agata and Roberto Baker looked up just in time to see the enormous chandelier falling down just before it crushed them.

The moment the chandelier hit the two criminals, 47 was already leaping over the balcony rail and rushing towards his now-deceased targets. He did have much time, as the who mansion undoubtedly heard or felt the incident. Withing a minuet 47 had little doubt the room would be flooded with guards.

Fortunately, the laptop had survived the destruction, even while the two criminals lay splattered in a bloody mess. Scooping up the laptop, 47 rushed into a nearby air vent and heard the small metal cover close behind his feet just as the first of the guards entered the room and responded to the scene will profanity.

With little other direction to follow other than forwards, 47 tucked the small laptop into his tweed jacket and crawled forward and peered out the metal cover leading to the next room.

A laundry room, of some sort. All the clothes, clean or dirty, were stacked neatly in bins, but no sign of any machinery to clean it. Taking a few extra moments to make sure the room was empty, he jumped out, landing in front of a closed laundry bin.

47 heard the squeak of the laundry bin door behind him opening just before his feet hit the ground. Knowing it was danger, 47 went to retrieve one of his custom knives, but his unseen opponent had a fraction of a second more time while 47 was landing, which was all the enemy time he needed to put the carbon-fiber wire over 47's strong neck and tighten it with all his strength.

47, however, anticipated this kind of attack, and his left hand was up and protecting his windpipe milliseconds before the wire tightened. The wire cut into 47's fingers, pressing the back of his hand into his throat and suffocating him. His opponent, however, did not expect 47's trachea to have survived the strangulation, and loosened the wire around his neck for half a second before tightening it again. The half second didn't give 47 a chance to free himself, but it did give him just enough time to get the energy to pull his custom knife out of his jacket.

The garrote cut deeper into 47's fingers, and 47 resisted the urge to frantically stab the knife backwards endlessly. He had to make sure his stab did damage, or his opponent would anticipate another stab and dodge easily. Holding the knife backwards, 47 did a side-thrust, burying the blade of the knife into his opponents right lung.

Thankful that the blade had missed a rib and went right into the lung, 47 lifted the now-loosened garrote off his neck and spun around, delivering an open-hand strike that crushed his opponents trachea.

With a painful exhale the man fell backwards into the laundry bin, and 47 wasted no time in heaving him out and inspecting his body. Giving the corpse a quick scan up and down, 47 turned the man around and almost gasped.

There was a bar code on the back of the man's head.

He was an Agent.


End file.
